


Incalescence

by Ratclowns



Category: DC Extended Universe, Super Sons (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Alien Biology, But until then uh. Dadfucking, Jealous Damian Wayne, Jon and Damian endgame, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oviposition, Tentacle Dick, Underage - Freeform, Xenobiology, sorry for this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-01-31 12:48:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18591571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ratclowns/pseuds/Ratclowns
Summary: Jon goes into heat at Wayne Manor and Bruce needs to help.After, Damian tries to even the score by fucking Clark, not knowing his biology is radically different than he expected.Eventual Jon/Damian





	1. Chapter 1

It started off gradually.

Jon had been at Damian’s since early that morning, and the weird feeling had been easy enough to ignore at first. He was warmer than usual, pushed his sleeves all the way up and cuffed his pants and he was still burning up, even in the easy air conditioning of the manor. He kept salivating, thinking about Damian, his skin, his voice. The thoughts crowded against him, too heavy to push away. Jon tried his absolute best; his dad would be there after dinner, and then he’d be free to go home.

It was torture. His face kept flushing when Damian turned to him, when he shifted while they played video games, when he breathed out. Jon could sense it all, feel it acutely, even smell him more than anything else.

Unbearable, he thinks to himself. He can’t. His entire body feels too hot, like he’s on fire from the inside. Of course Damian notices.

“Are you sick?” He asks. “Gonna puke acid and ruin my bedroom carpet or something?”

“Yeah,” Jon breathes. He can’t stand to be near Damian right now; what does he even need? He just feels wrong, off somehow. “Sick.”

He pushes away from Damian, finds his way to one of the many giant bathrooms in Wayne Manor. It seems like a guest bathroom, pristine towels and unopened soaps lining the counter. Jon slams the door and strips his shirt off to relieve some of the heat.

Heat, he thinks. What did his dad say about heat? He can’t even remember the last time his dad mentioned something like that, blushing and saying he’d explain when Jon was older. After his shirt he takes off his pants. He can’t believe how wet he is, his underwear dripping and clear with it. He runs a hand up himself and gasps; the small tentacle at the top of his slit jerks against his hand. He allows himself to take off his underwear, lets his clit curl around his finger and gasps at the sensation. He needs more.

Jon works a finger inside of himself easy. It’s so wet that two more fingers go in easily. He gasps, trying to be quiet. It’s too much, and not enough. He needs more.

On the sink, a collection of soap, shampoo, conditioner, shaving cream all stand in their packaging. He takes one of the smaller bottles, something slender and cylindrical and a jolt goes through him at what he’s about to do. Jon runs the bottle against his slit to coat it and then works it inside.

It feels so _good_. He can’t believe he’s never tried anything like this before; it goes in easily, fills him and stretches all the right spots. He keeps pushing, until the bottle disappears completely; Jon comes like that, back against the bathroom door and heel of his palm pressed against his clit. Cum drips down his thighs.

He thinks he keeps quiet, but as his senses come back to him Jon hear’s Damian’s voice boom through the door. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah!” Jon says, panicking. “I’ll be right out!”

He puts a finger inside himself to pull the bottle back out; it won’t budge. Jon’s heart skips a beat. He clenches down to try and push it out, but instead of it moving he just gets another wave of pleasure that threatens to make him moan out loud.

“Father is already downstairs waiting. Whenever you’re ready we can eat.”

“I’ll just be another second!” Jon says. Please, he thinks. Please come out! The bottle inside him doesn’t move and Jon wants to cry. He redresses quickly, instead, smoothing his hair out and hoping Damian doesn’t notice how red he is.

He opens the door. “I didn’t even know your kind could get sick.” Damian says, eyeing him up and down.

Jon tries to laugh to lighten the mood, but every step down the stairs jostles the item inside of him, breaking the laugh into disjointed, awkward parts. Damian stares but doesn’t say anything. If being around Damian was bad, he thinks, stepping through the door and smelling Bruce is something much, much worse.

He smells amazing to Jon. Something musky and strong and irresistible, it makes him nearly drool. The haze that abated when he came was back full force, clouding his thoughts completely.

“Happy to have you for dinner, Jon.” Bruce says, smiling. There’s food on the dining room table, more than the three of them can reasonably eat, but he’s sure Bruce did that on purpose. Bruce, Bruce, Bruce.

“I’m happy to be here!” Jon tries. His tongue feels too big for his mouth. He can’t breathe through his nose without smelling Bruce again. He needs it. He needs more.

The three of them sit and start eating, and Jon feels like he’s on fire. He keeps filling his drink with more water hoping it cools him down; it doesn’t.

“What did you boys get up to today?” Bruce asks.

“Nothing interesting, since you told us not to patrol. Played inane video games. Jon didn’t feel well enough to spar.” Damian answers. Jon, from his seat, focuses his eyes through the wood of the table and the fabric of Bruce’s pants to visualize his cock. His dad told him to never, ever do something so invasive and yet there he was, salivating at the thought.

“Are you sick, Jon?” Bruce asks. The concern in his voice makes Jon want to whine.

“I’m not feeling, Mr. Wayne, I’m not--” Jon tries, his face growing hotter. “I don’t know why, I don’t think--”

Bruce’s eyes change. He looks with resolve, harder, understanding. Of course he knows everything about Kryptonians, learned a long time ago with Clark, connects the dots when he sees Jon sweaty, panting, shifting in his seat.

“Damian, help me take him to a guest room.” Bruce stands.

“What is it?” He asks. “You know what’s wrong with him, Father?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Bruce says. “Just help him to the bedroom and let him lay down until Clark gets here.”

Damian helps Jon up nonetheless, his shirt stuck to him with sweat. Jon moans out loud at the contact.

Bruce stops where he stands. Jon clamps his mouth shut, embarrassed beyond belief at the noise. Damian keeps walking with him, oblivious. “Are you in that much pain?” He asks.

“Mmhmm.” Jon says. Every time he inhales, he smells more of the Waynes than he can take. His head spins and when Damian finally leads him to a bed he collapses onto his stomach and buries his face in the sheets just to smell something different.

“Give him some space, Damian.” Bruce says, voice deep and commanding from the doorway. It makes Jon gasp.

“Why? I want to make sure he’s okay.”

“Go to your room. He needs to rest.” Jon hears the command in it, even through the haze. So strong. He needs it, he needs it.

Damian walks past and Bruce closes the door behind him. He can hear the lock being clicked into place and when he opens his eyes he’s alone.

Jon finally allows himself some relief. He strips off his shirt, feels how sensitive his chest is. Peels his pants and underwear down and grinds his hand against his clit. His hips work in waves trying to bring the bottle inside of him deeper, on instinct.

“Clark I need you here now,” Bruce’s voice, trying to be quiet, still reverberates from outside the room. “I think,” he starts, then tries to whisper, “I think your son’s in heat. In my house.”

Jon tries to pause but his hips keep working. “Yes. Yes! Just hurry.”

It isn’t enough for him. Jon nearly sobs with want, and his resolve breaks. “Mr. Wayne!”

A beat of silence from outside the door. “Yes, Jon?”

Jon slides off the bed, crawls forward to where the door is locked. He can smell Bruce stronger here; he’s just on the other side of the door. “I need _help!_ Please!”

“I can’t do that.” Bruce says, too fast. “You aren’t thinking straight.”

“I need help!” Jon tries again. He feels the bottle inside him shift, finally lowering enough for him to grip it with cum-slick fingers. He takes it out and feels strikingly, horribly empty.

“It _hurts_ , please, Mr. Wayne.” His chest tightens. Jon tries for the doorknob and when it doesn’t budge he crushes it in his hand. “I need _help_ , please, please, _please_!” Jon sobs, three fingers idly thrusting inside himself.

The door opens and Jon plasters himself to Bruce before the door is even shut behind him. “Thank you,” Jon breathes, rising on his knees to bury his face in Bruce’s crotch. His hands dig into the fabric to press himself closer, resting his cunt against the polished tip of Bruce’s shoes. “Thank you, I need it, I need--”

A hand tangles in his hair and pulls his face away. “You need to lie down and wait for your father.”

“I can’t!” Jon cries. “It hurts too bad, I can’t! I need you, Mr. Wayne, please!” He mouths against the outline of Bruce’s dick, growing harder and harder. “You can’t leave me like this! It’s too much, I’ll _die_ , I need something bigger--”

Bruce growls. Jon takes it as a victory, pulling Bruce to the bed and climbing on top of him. His thighs are soaked in his own slick, his clit curling up and down seeking friction. When he grinds down on Bruce, he can feel the outline of his cock.

He’s _big_. Jon needs it inside of him, can’t wait any longer. He rips Bruce’s suit pants in his haste, tearing them down the middle to free his cock. Jon rises up and sinks down in one movement, Bruce’s entire cock sheathed inside of him. He comes, jerking against Bruce’s body, milking the sensation. He feels something viscous and sticky leak from the tip of his clit, but doesn’t think about anything other than Bruce’s cum inside of him.

“Thank you, thank you, Mr. Wayne, need it,” Jon pants, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He doesn’t bother to hold Bruce down now that he’s fully inside, just keeps bouncing on his cock.

“So full, need to be full, please,” Jon drops his head to Bruce’s chest and inhales, the cloying smell of arousal and need making his head spin. Every time he drops his hips, Bruce hits something inside of him that makes Jon cry. He knows, in the back of his head, it should be painful, but it feels only intensely, hideously _good_.

“Jon, you need to let me up,” Bruce grits out. “I’m going to--”

“Please!” Jon says, his hips still working Bruce deeper inside of him. “Please, inside, inside, need it, hurts--”

Jon feels when Bruce comes. He feels the seed coat inside of him, a wash of cool relief through his overheated body. The feeling spreads until he’s coming again, his walls contracting around Bruce, trying to coax every bit of cum from him. Jon sobs through it, the sensations overwhelming and new. It feels good, it feels right, like he’d never felt before. Jon collapses on top of Bruce, drooling and breathing heavy, murmuring, “Thank you, thank you…”

The door opens, and Jon’s heart drops.

“Dad!” He says, trying to pull himself off of Bruce. His father pulls him into a hug and Jon can’t feel anything other than his father, strong, overwhelming. His stomach turns and he buries his face in Clark’s skin, inhaling deep. His head grows hazy again, his body reacting. Kryptonian, stronger, better. He ruts against his father’s hip while Bruce tries to redress with his torn pants.

“You know I’m sorry about this.” Bruce says. “He was out of his mind with need. He would have broken the door down to fuck whoever was on the other side.”

“I know how it is,” Clark says. “I’m sorry it happened here. Let me take him home so I can do this properly.”

Jon shivers at the words. He lets his father take him into his arms, curling against him. Bruce’s cum leaks from his hole and Clark runs a finger through it, pops it into his mouth. Jon’s clit curls towards his father’s hand.

Damian approaches Bruce the moment the Kents leave.

“You knew what was happening to him.” He says.

“I’m not proud of it, Damian. They’ve got different biology. When they go into heat they run on instinct.”

“And your instinct was to fuck him through it?”

“Watch your language. My instinct was to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. Clark is better equipped to handle it from here.”

Damian leaves without saying goodnight, locks himself in his room and resolves to punish Bruce and Jon both. How dare they, how dare his father touch Jon and how dare Jon go to anyone other than Damian for help. He seethes, feels the anger well up inside of him and pours it into a plan that would demonstrate just how angry he is.

He has to fuck Clark now. That’s the only way to get even.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian tries to seduce Clark, but his plans go terribly, horribly wrong. He ends up fucked out of his mind, filled with eggs but overall cooler than he should be about the whole thing

It isn’t easy to get Clark Kent alone, Damian realizes just 3 days into his plan.

The man had an ironclad schedule. He went to work, during the day, surrounded by colleagues (not an ideal place for a meeting anyway). He would check in with Jon, go straight to work with Bruce, Diana, the rest of them. Again, not ideal. Damian had diagrammed it all, took into account all the minutiae of his day, snack breaks, phone calls, every time he stopped to tie his shoes.

“What’s the best way to get your dad alone?” Damian asks Jon after a solid week of zero progress. They regularly patrolled together, Damian crouched on the edge of the roof they were stopped at. Jon sat with his legs dangling over the side, idly eating a candy bar Damian had bought for him from a vending machine two blocks down.

“I dunno. Did you ask him?” Jon asks. “He makes time for me whenever I wanna talk.”

Damian wants to smack himself in the face. Something so stupidly easy, how indicative of all of the Kents. “Right. Ask him.”

“What do you need to talk to him about?” Jon asks. Damian weighs his options.

‘I want to get him alone to fuck him so we can be even again.’ No, too forward. Jon wouldn’t like it, would try to dissuade him at best and tell his father at worst.

‘I want to talk to him about your heat the other week.’ Again, too forward. Jon would get embarrassed and warn Clark.

‘I want to talk to him about the Justice League.’ No, he could talk to anyone else about them, and if Bruce was to be believed Superman wasn’t even their leader.

“I want to talk to him about. Being a hero.” Perfect. Something inane that Clark would enjoy lecturing about for at least an hour. More than enough time for Damian to seduce him.

“Oh, that’s cool. You wanna come to dinner later this week? I’m sure Dad’d love to talk about it, and Wednesdays Mom makes this casserole that’s really good--”

“No, it has to be alone.”

Jon’s face drops. “Oh, uh. Okay.” He turns away and finishes his candy bar, folding the paper neatly and putting it in his pocket to throw away later. “Damian?” He asks, voice wavering.

“Yes?” He says.

“Is this because of what I did… with your dad?”

Damian wants to choke. “No. I don’t care about that.”

“Because Dad said it was all natural, and I shouldn’t be embarrassed but _I am_ , I really am, and you’ve been kinda weird lately and I thought maybe it was because…”

“No.” Damian grits. He’d never admit that, spying through the two way mirror most of the guest rooms had, he had been jealous of his _father_ of all people. He’d never admit how it made his stomach turn, how angry he felt watching Bruce use Jon, _his Jon_ , like a toy. That should have been him, fucking Jon until he collapsed.

It _deserved_ to be him.

“Because, you know, I want us to be friends no matter what, right?” Jon says.

Damian does his best to smile. They’d be even soon, and everything would go back to the way it was. And the next time Jon is like that, heated and out of his mind, he can go to Damian like he should. It would all work out.

“Yeah,” Damian says, putting a hand on Jon’s shoulder in what should be an encouraging gesture, but to Damian feels more like a mark of possession. “I know.”

“So, you wanted to talk?” Clark asks. It was mid-afternoon, and by Damian’s calculations the base he and Jon used would be empty for at least 70 minutes, give or take. He’d disabled all their communications in or out, making sure they wouldn’t be interrupted. He’d taken samples off the bedding from the guest room Jon had been in weeks ago and synthesized the pheromones in bulk. Everything had been planned.

“Yes.” Damian says. Clark sits at one end of the large meeting table, Damian at the other end. Diffused light from underwater filters through the windows. He doesn’t elaborate.

“Okay…” Clark says. _God,_ he thinks, like _father like son._ “Jon said it was something about heroism?”

“Yes.” Damian says. “I want to know your feelings about me being a hero.”

“Well,” Clark says, “You’re a hero already. You help people who need you, and that’s all its about, right?”

“I suppose.” Damian says. He rises to his feet. “Give me a minute and we’ll continue to discuss. Hero business.” He walks into one of the other rooms and closes the door behind him.

Damian sprays a small amount of the pheromones on his neck, his wrists, his back. Satisfied, he opens the door.

Clark doesn’t move from his seat until Damian walks through the door.

He inhales, which Damian only notices because he chokes afterward. Clark rises to his feet “I need to leave.”

“No. Talk to me more about heroism.” Damian walks closer and Clark feels his head spin.

“Damian, I’m sorry, I can’t. I have to go.” He turns, but Damian steps closer.

“Don’t, I still have more to talk about.” He smiles, his plan working perfectly. He can imagine it, Clark in the same state Jon was, mewling and writhing.

“You don’t understand, Damian. I’m sorry, I really am, but I just--”

“Stay here. Let me take care of you.”

Clark has the audacity to laugh. Damian bristles at it.

“Was this something your father set up?” He covers his nose and mouth with his hand. “It’s not fair for him to use you as a bargaining chip. He should know better, I’m not angry, I understand what it’s like to be in that position.”

Damian sneers. “He didn’t do anything. I did this. You’re going into heat, right? I’m going to fuck you.”

“Hah!”

“I’m serious!” Damian crosses the room, rises to his tiptoes in an attempt to kiss Clark; he can’t reach.

Clark pushes him back onto the table, his movements languid. “No, that’s not happening. I’m going to go, and you’re not going to smell like this ever again, Damian. I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Damian says. “Stop resisting. Jon didn’t.”

Clark shivers at those words. “Damian, Jon’s heats are different from mine. You shouldn’t have done this.”

“I wanted to. So let me do it.”

“You don’t _understand_ ,” Clark whines, and Damian’s never, ever heard that sound before.

“Enlighten me then. Before I just take what I want.”

“Just like your father,” Clark mutters, dropping his face to Damian’s neck. “No idea, you smell like Jon, fertile, like a mother, sweet and cloying, Damian.”

“What?” He says. “No, I smell like heat. I smell like you’re going to spread your legs like Jon did and I’m going to fuck you.” Damian tries to rise to his feet, but Clark holds him down. He inhales the crook of Damian’s neck again, ruts against him.

“So sorry,” Clark says, and Damian watches his pupils dilate and color rise to his cheeks, exactly like Jon had looked but so, so different. “Sorry, sorry, Damian, I told you, I warned you.”

“Let me up, Kent!” Damian growls. Both of his wrists fit in Clark’s hand easy, and it’s no effort to pin them above his head. Clark rips the fabric of his Robin costume like tissue paper and lets his other hand roam over his chest. Damian keens when he pinches one of his nipples, harder than he expects.

None of this is as he expects, actually; the situation is rapidly getting out of his control. Clark licks a stripe up his neck and Damian shivers.

“Nngh, stop it,” He tries, but Clark ignores him. He keeps moving higher, until he’s licking into Damian’s mouth, muffling any other protests.

Whatever’s rutting against him doesn’t feel like what Damian had seen of Jon. He feels Clark’s… would he even call it a cock? It feels giant, _inhuman_ , writhing whenever he ruts against Damian’s ass.

Clark’s hands around his wrists are bruising and painful. Every time Damian tries to move, even a little, it’s met with a steel resistance, as though trying to move a mountain. Shocks run through Damian at the thought that he’s really at someone else’s mercy.

It’s thrilling.

His head is swimming when Clark finally stops kissing him, a line of saliva connecting the two when he pulls away. He has enough wherewithal to undress, and Damian pales at the sight.

“It’s huge.” Clark strokes himself, the appendage curling at the tip around his hand. Where Jon had what Damian would describe as a clit, Clark had a much more imposing tentacle, smooth and shiny and huge, holy shit.

“It won’t fit, Kent,” Damian tries, not bothering to hide the shake of his voice. “I don’t know what you think you’re gonna do but it won’t fit.”

“Gonna breed you,” Clark says, bracketing Damian again. “Smell so good. Get you nice and full.” He kisses Damian again, a solid unmoving weight that Damian can’t hope to overcome. The tentacle at his entrance moves on its own, slicking Damian and caressing his dick with smooth, languid movements. Damian pushes against him, trying desperately for any kind of reprieve as Clark pushes inside.

Damian howls into Clark’s mouth. It’s more intense than anything he’s ever felt before; it feels alien, and weird, and _good._

“Why does it feel so good?” He asks when Clark finally, finally pulls away. His cock is still, very slowing, with undulating motions, stretching him.

“Heat takes over. Makes it good for you, Jon, Bruce. Easier when you’re relaxed to fill you up.”

Fascinating. He wants to ask more questions, but Clark flips him onto his stomach, face pressed into the table and legs held fast in Clark’s hands.

He starts fucking Damian in earnest, small movements to work himself deeper. It’s so new, so different, that Damian wants to moan. It feels good, great even. His dick isn’t even being touched and he feels lit up from the inside, on edge.

“Holy shit,” Damian says, because when he looks down he can see the tentacle, _Clark’s cock,_ moving inside of him through his skin. Every time the tip of it curls Damian can see where it presses his stomach outward. Half of him wants to dry heave and the other half wants to feel more of it.

He swallows and allows himself to squeak, in a parody of authoritarianism, “Harder, now.”

Clark growls, but does as he’s told. Every thrust rocks Damian’s entire body, and if it wasn’t for Clark holding him up he’d have collapsed by now. He feels the dick inside him move deeper, impossibly deeper, too much and too fast and everything Damian had ever wanted but didn’t know about, he’d get addicted, he would--

“Gonna breed you, Damian. Knock you up like Jon, like your father, gonna come inside, so sorry, Damian,” Clark mutters against Damian’s ear. He feels something cold inside him, spreading through him. The base of Clark’s dick swells and Damian screams.

“What are--” He tries, but it’s pressing inside of him, stretching him wider and wider. He can feel it, traveling the same path as the cock still inside.

“Eggs!?” He gasps. Clark’s grip on him is unrelenting, not letting him move as a second egg presses against his entrance. The stretch of it burns, compared to the cool feeling of Clark’s cum before it, and Damian shudders at the feeling.

“No, no, you can’t!” He says, struggling in Clark’s steel grip. “Take it out! It’s too much! You can’t!”

“You’ll take it.” Clark says. “Opened you up. You’ll take all of them.”

“Oh my God,” Damian says, terrified, overwhelmed, and so, so hard. Every time an egg pops inside of him it hits a spot that makes him see stars. “You bastard, you motherfucker, I’m going to make you pay for this, Kent, I swear.”

“Mmm,” Clark says, idly thrusting into him. How many eggs does he have left? Damian counted eight already, or nine… he’d stop before Damian burst, right?

Clark brings one hand to Damian’s stomach, cupping him and feeling the weight of it, humming. “Already so big,” He says, dreamy. “So good for me. Bearing it all. So strong. You and Jon, taking all of it so perfect.”

“Enough, Kent!” Damian says, staring at himself, his stomach distended with the eggs packed inside of him, swelling with each one. “Please, I can’t!”

“Just a little more, Damian, I promise.”  

“Kent! Please,” he tries, the pressure of it beginning to grow uncomfortable. He wants to cry with the mixed sensations overwhelming him. “No, _Clark,_ please, I’m too _full!_ ”

“Shh,” Clark says, one hand smoothing over his aching stomach. He pulls Damian backwards until they’re both standing. Clark spreads both hands over him, feeling the bumps where the eggs press close to the surface. He’s really filled with eggs, with _Clark’s_ eggs, and Damian looks down in disbelief. He looks pregnant and the thought makes his hips jerk.

“You wanna come, don’t you?” Clark asks, soothing.

Damian, tears in his eyes, chokes. “Yes.”

Clark keeps rubbing little circles into his bulging stomach, kneading and caressing. His other hand finds Damian’s dick, leaking and hard. He fucks into Clark’s fist, watching his stomach move with each thrust. It’s obscene, it’s disgusting, it’s too much and it’s perfect-- Damian comes into Clark’s hand wailing, clenching around where Clark was still pressed deep, deep inside.

It feels nearly wrung out of him, coming in waves that electrify him from inside out. His legs buckle but Clark holds him up, hands pressing firm into his stomach. The touch sends another jolt through his body and he rides it out, closing his eyes.

“Holy shit.” Damian tries when his vision returns, seconds or minutes or hours later, he doesn’t know. He feels Clark pull out, the tentacle exiting his body but the eggs staying firmly in place.

“I’m so sorry, Damian,” Clark says. “I’m going to call your father and sort this out. I’m ashamed, we’re going to talk this through and I’ll explain to Bruce.”

“I’ll tell him the truth. I provoked you with an artificial heat hormone to fuck you. It’s my fault.”

Clark tries to stroke a hand against Damian’s stomach, soothing. Damian bats his hand away. “I want him to see the aftermath. You said he’s familiar with this?”

“He’s had...experience. Let me at least help you home, Damian. Why would you try something like this?”

Damian weighs his options.

‘I’ve always wanted to fuck Superman.’ An obvious lie that Clark would see right through.

‘I saw Bruce doing this with you and wanted to try it.’ Another obvious lie. He’d never caught them and the entire thing was a revelation he can’t believe his father kept from him.

‘I am in love with your son and when I saw my father with him I became so overwhelmed with jealousy I had to exact revenge before I tried anything else with Jon.’ Too forward.

“I wanted to see what would happen.” Damian says. “It was an experiment in your biology.”

Clark winces. “I’m going to get you home. I trust Bruce to take care of you until you feel well enough to… get the eggs out.”

Damian jolts. “Are they _fertilized_ , Kent?”

“No, no! No, I was just responding to the heat scent. Don’t worry.”

“Good.” Damian bristles as Clark puts one hand on the small of his back. He feels heavy, and each step knocks the eggs against one another. Damian feels himself harden at the thought laying each egg, feeling it stretch him again; he tamps down the thought.

“I’m so ashamed of myself,” Clark says, “How am I ever going to apologize for this? Bruce is going to kill me.”

“Father is going to think I did this to get back at him.” Damian says. “But as far as he’s concerned, you two are even now.”

 _And so are me and Jon,_ Damian thinks. Which is perfect, because he knows exactly how to win Jon back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk to me about more bad DC porn on twitter, @buggoops
> 
> sorry about playing fast and loose with Kryptonian genitals. I don't know how Jon was born I don't know how any of that shit would work with a human but for my purposes the eggs are just for show and the cum doesn't matter

**Author's Note:**

> totally HC Kryptonian biology, they all have 2 sets of genitalia, a hole and a tentacle/ovipositor. It can deposit eggs or come, depending on the cycle of the person. Because Jon's half human, the tentacle is more like a clit, smaller and not really used for fucking. When Clark gets him home he fills him with eggs just like Jon needs and it's all very fine because they're aliens and that sort of thing is normal, Bruce, really  
> follow my very bad twitter @ratclowns for more thoughts on the topic


End file.
